I taped the ideas to my head

so all would know who thought them

Then died a fourth time for them

to be found with my body

riddled with bird shot

and rubber bullet bruises

in a cell of my own forming

with associates not known

for crime. It is thus we show

the valour of times unknown to all

but for free men along with women

on the side of the time-tide’s own

making of sand and weirs

of youth and living.

It is thus to be here in the end

of the time called the end of the rut

and the ruin and that is why

it is all about to fade

to insignificance

as we disperse into

threads of ether.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2021

I’m of an age where for the first time I am pushed

to the front

of the queue

in Covid-19 times

and I wonder

about age and technology

am I too old

to learn

to use a

joystick?

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2021

So, you want to write poetry do you?

Try this:

Forget about thinking and think about crafting

the words and sounds

to a page

in mnemonic forms

that make

the ones who

are wanted like you

more.

Only criminals

can understand

this form of

verse.

It steals in and takes

leaving no calling cards

but only

battered vases

and shelves.

Take a moment

and see the debris

take a time

to unload your value

on me.

Write.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2021

You cannot change philosophy

It is written

It develops in chic apartments

where no one knows the word’s

meaning

except to honour the dead

at each seminar

on killing in Arabia

where no one knows the dead

or their names.

This is why an intellect has

no meaning without knowing

who to vote for in the election

of elders who know not how to work

unless they tty again

and do not know how

but ask again and again,

for assistance after school

from Churchmen and their choirs

of life and death.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS com BRUCE P SAUNDERS com BRUCE CDF MORE com PRINCE WILLIAM OF BRITS com PRINCE BRUCED DU FAUX 2021

You said I wrote great

you said I had talent

and then they locked you up.

I know what it’s like

we have been there too

for it wasn’t long before they locked me up too.

Now we sit here off the field

on a yellow card for fouling

the ref

the law cannot stake us to

the floor and it gives

no true indicating

of when the real times

of our lives begins

here on earth where

they all see it to be

here where they all live

to be the best of all things

to them.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2021

In the Sun we are the time

and the when

in the word of the Lord

we are good and of pen

there is no time for

the way of the why

when no one can see that we are

about the word of the man

called Jesu and his way

with the wind and sea

for no one can tell if

it is wrong to be here

where there is no time

for the right of man to be

the any and all of all

things about the time and way

of being

End

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS com BRUCE P SAUNDERS com BRUCE CDF MORE com PRINCE WILLIAM OF BRITS com PRINCE BRUCED D FAUX 2021

How do I write a line long enough

to last a morning

How do I write the poetry

of life but with

a side step

and a swift heel?

What are you?

A butcher

with words of sharp

curves that sneak

into the gloves

worn by an

accountant who

monitors the credit you

do not use, for

the time is not used

when you want to be heard

but when you are silent.

You burn my flag and I

watch the smouldering shape

outlined in heart felt

fingers of orange,

the only way to touch

a stranger.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS com BRUCE P SAUNDERS com BRUCE CDF MORE com PRINCE WILLIAM OF BRITS com PRINCE BRUCED DU FAUX 2021

The year fills my window with

a feint ash

second opinions come along

to able the progress of the flash

flooding rivers that torment

me and ask for the litter to

be swept away to sea.

I almost lost my writing hand dipping

my quill in the blood soaked ochres

that tainted the adure with one

of saintly cumbersomes.

The paint when dry showed

years of coming to be

in the oceans of the world

when it was not for the man

and child to know but for the worker

and the red to resignedly

host their perils among the dew

of the age.

The reeds rustle with still birthed plains

of swamp and life is still too long

in the seams to make the red

of the offal seem blue with the colour

of might and irresolution.

It is time for the resurrection of man

and the need follows with each failed

task of memory.

I search at the bottom of the box

for the colours that I want

to pen my way through these

days of bleak solitude.

While I push away with red

you home in with blue

lights flashing in your hair

like cops alone on an evening light

with spines of angels laughing

at the trauma of ideals

that makes us forget that

no one knows who is to blame for

the world that we ken and feel.

The colour yellow stops me talking

the green makes all yield before it

The black is an underline, an end to

the fable, an end to the note of

.our making good the realm of the man

and his king is here with the void

of the ray of light called tasm.

Africa haunts me like a sullen woman,

its breadth of making the music cry

does not allow one to find the rope to hold

onto for it is not the word of man

that gives us the pride of moments

but the word of the man inside us that makes

the rest of the kings men see that all the

writings on the walls of fame make the world

see no one is able to claim their place

without having a word or two about the way

that the right of man has been given a lift.

Graffitti is the way of sound like the youth

of the understanding of the age about

the right of the message to get through.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS com BRUCE P SAUNDERS com BRUCE CDF MORE com PRINCE BRUCED DU FAUX 2020